


No Such Thing as Luck

by Alverrann



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (somewhat) healthily, BAMF Leonard "Bones" McCoy, BAMF Padmé Amidala, Bones is So Done, Bones tells everyone off, But he's not a bad guy, Clones are victims, Cloning is morally questionable, Don't punch a Weequay in the face, Dooku is conflicted, F/M, Hondo is a Pirate first, Including the Jedi, Kenobi and Skywalker express their feelings, Obi-Wan and Anakin are both emotionally compromised, Spock understands the Jedi code better than the Jedi, Spock's logical arguments are logical, Star Wars and Star Trek are awesome, The Force does what it is wont to do, Which is what it wants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2020-10-09 04:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alverrann/pseuds/Alverrann
Summary: "The prejudices people feel about each other disappear when they get to know each other"- James T. KirkKirk, Spock and McCoy find themselves in an unprecedented situation when their transporters inexplicably malfunction, leaving them at the mercy of a new galaxy and the war raging through it.They are determined to get home, though it looks like they may have been taken there for a reason.





	1. In Which Transporters are Unreliable

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to do this for so long. You guys don't even know.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't own Star Wars OR Star Trek, though that would be pretty cool. :)
> 
> Anyway, I've noticed that there's not really a ton of crossovers between these two fandoms (and it's understandable, honestly, with the amount of stuff you've gotta take into account to write a good crossover) and I decided to rectify that.
> 
> So here's the biggest (or at least one of the biggest) crossovers that I will probably ever write. I'll try to make sure everyone stays in character, and if it seems wrong TELL ME so I can FIX IT.
> 
> In the meantime, please enjoy.

It was a simple mission, involving a rescue and medical assessment of the USS Horizon. Apparently they’d had some run-in with a giant space squid (McCoy believed it, too. After going back in time, nothing would shock him ever again) and were badly damaged as a result.

The medical teams would follow them over with engineering to take care of the damage, but the command crew was heading over first. It wouldn’t be fun, but it also wouldn’t be dangerous, and so McCoy was content with the job. After everything they’d been through in recent months, a normal mission was long overdue.

Jim’s eyes had been twinkling at him as they’d stepped onto the transporter pad, his voice holding a fond humor as he addressed the doctor. “Don’t worry, Bones. This’ll be the worst part.”

McCoy could practically hear Spock’s eyebrow going up on his far right, and rolled his own eyes. “Don’t say things like that, Jim. You’ll jinx it.”

“I was unaware that you were a practitioner of such a primitive form of superstition, doctor.”

“With our record, I won’t be surprised if we never make it to the Horizon at all.” McCoy declared smugly, and Spock’s disbelief became almost palpable.

“Fascinating.”

“Oh, lighten up, Bones.” Kirk’s laugh finally manifested itself. “We’ll be back before you know it! Energize, Mr. Kyle.”

McCoy’s stomach turned as the young man sent them off. Transporters had always turned his stomach. He had barely finished materializing, and could already feel that something was wrong. “This isn’t the _Horizon_.”

He turned as he said it, and felt his stomach tighten when he found no one at his side. He was alone. Time for Jim to eat his words. The captain had jinxed them all.

“_Dammit_.” McCoy murmured the word as he began to take in his surroundings, his eyes roving over the forest-y world that had enveloped him. The trees were large, their thick blue-colored trunks close together while bright green foliage practically dripped from the low-hanging branches.

Under different circumstances, McCoy might have considered his weeping surroundings and the humid air as wonderful (being from Georgia, it had taken him a while to get used to the stale air of a Starship). As it happened, though, he wasn’t too pleased.

He quickly removed his communicator from his belt, and tried to contact the ship. A few minutes and several curse words later, he was trying to contact _anyone_.

“I’m gonna wring Scotty’s neck when I see ‘im next …” He knew that whatever had happened, Lt. Kyle had probably had nothing to do with it, and blaming Scotty for his misfortune made him feel slightly better about the situation. In all honesty, the Scotsman was probably even angrier than the doctor was about the malfunction.

Any small amount of humor that McCoy found in his situation was torn from him as a faint sound reached his ears. Off in the distance there was a high-pitched scream, and it took him about three more seconds before he recognized it as a type of vehicle.

Probably flying, if the sound of its engine was anything to go off of (not that he was any expert).

He was proved right when more sounds joined the first, and frowned when the racket drove the native wildlife screeching from the trees. It sounded like the pilots were taking their vehicles pretty fast.

Then a new sound filtered through, and McCoy’s heart stopped.

It sounded like … discharges. Weapons fire.

Shooting.

Being returned, as well.

A battle, then.

The ground rumbled beneath his feet soon after an eruption from the distant sounds, and McCoy felt his heart start up again, going three times as fast to make up for the time lost when it had stopped.

“Aw, _hell_.”

Panic bubbled up inside of him, and it was only years of being a surgeon that kept him from bolting immediately away from the battle. McCoy didn’t have any desire to be caught in the middle of it, naturally, but also knew that it would most likely hold a few of the answers as to where he was and where his missing friends were.

For a long moment he deliberated. The equipment being used didn’t sound ‘Fleet commissioned (especially the vehicles), and so it was likely that neither of the factions involved in the fight were members of Starfleet.

McCoy also knew that he would easily be killed if he wandered over into a war zone, with no idea which side was fighting for his ideals (if either side even _was_) and whether or not he wouldn’t be immediately killed on sight.

In the end, his decision was made for him, and he was quite suddenly scrambling to get to the side.

Scrambling to hide.

There was a large brown vehicle breaking through the foliage near him, scraping through the trees at an alarming rate.

McCoy winced when–after a large and resounding crack–one of the trees came slamming down onto the forest floor, and the huge machine glided right on over it, little more than half a foot off the ground. He couldn’t help but stare at the design of the vehicle, as it seemed impractical and overlarge. It didn’t look as though there were any guns attached, which had him wondering what it was meant for.

He wasn’t about to ask, at any rate.

“Not even three minutes in and I’m a commando!” He growled angrily as he hunkered down into the foliage on the forest floor, hoping that he wouldn’t be noticed. “This’ll be the worst part my _foot_!” McCoy knew that the ship could be a rogue ship, not having anything to do with the battle. He knew that it could also be a ship from the group that would most likely help him.

Yet the chance that it could be an enemy–someone who would shoot first and ask questions later–was far too great.

He didn’t have much confidence in the driver after the decimation of that tree, anyway.

Leonard McCoy waited quietly for the ship to pass, holding his breath despite his inability to hear anything in the racket that was slowly beginning to surround him.

For indeed, ground was being won in the battle, and the sizzling noises of the fight were growing ever louder in his ears. McCoy knew that soon he would have to either run away or choose a side, and so it was with a new desperation that he pulled out his communicator, hissing fervently. “_Jim_! _Spock_!”

Another crack resounded from nearby, and a new tree came barreling down next to the first victim, a ship just like the other floating over its carcass. He tucked away his communicator, not understanding why the pilot hadn’t just used the first trail instead of making his own.

Then he pulled out his medical tricorder. If he was going to contact one of the sides in this battle, it was going to be the right one. He took a discreet reading of the vehicle, surprised to find that it had no shielding.

He was even more surprised to find that it also had no life forms inside of it. Something still moved, but the tricorder could pick up no signs of organic life.

“The _hell_?”

McCoy had no time to dwell on his discovery, since at that point in the battle; there came a loud screech from behind him, shooting over his head with a desperate edge to it. He could see the shape of something large flying away from him, and felt himself cringe reflexively when the sound of multiple cracks reached him, signaling the death of more trees.

If they kept going the way they were, the whole forest would be decimated by the end of the battle.

The vehicle was descending–no, _crashing_–violently into the forest, leaving a large trail of destruction in its wake before coming to a smoking stop. The Starfleet doctor made certain that the other vehicle was gone before moving forward, his tricorder still in hand.

He could see white even from as far away as he was–not the deep metallic brown like the first two vehicles–and knew that it probably came from the other team in the battle, so he had hope that there would be people inside (which was strange, since normally he _didn’t_ hope that when something had just crashed).

The lack of life in the other vehicle still had McCoy rattled, and so it was with hope that he put on an extra burst of speed, praying that the ship wouldn’t blow up before he arrived.

He didn’t have to focus very hard on moving quietly, since the screaming battle behind him would have made it nearly impossible to hear his clumsy footsteps anyway.

Smoke had already enveloped the ship by the time he reached it, but that didn’t stop him from heading in, trusting his medical scanner more than his eyes. There were three people still alive in the vehicle (and thank heavens that there were even people in there at all), all in need of immediate medical attention.

It would be a cold day in Hell before Leonard McCoy let someone die in front of him without at least trying to save them.

He held his breath as he neared, his eyes squinting to see the carcass of the ship through the cloying smoke as he stumbled forward. He could see flames licking at the roof of the ship from the inside, and knew that he didn’t have much time to get the survivors out before the vehicle likely exploded.

McCoy found his way in through a very large hole blown in the side, exposed wires dangling dangerously from the edges. He avoided them deftly, entering and immediately crouching to better see through the smoke.

His eyes were watering, and he was forced to glare down at his tricorder for some answers as to the survivors before moving forward. According to his readings, two of the men would still be mostly coherent, and so he spoke while he moved. “I am Lt. Commander Leonard H. McCoy, and I’m here to get y’all out.”

“Lt … commander?”

A voice to his left slurred as he moved forward to retrieve the one that was definitely unconscious.

“Yeah, so I outrank ya.” He knew that it was a pretty big gamble, using his rank like that in somebody else’s army (did they even have Lt. commanders?), but he also knew from experience that soldiers responded well to orders. “Can you walk?”

There was a hacking cough from even farther to his left, and the original voice spoke quietly in lieu of his companions inability to respond, “Sir … ya gotta get out … this ship’s gonna blow any second now, an’ we’re as good as dead.”

“Not if I’ve got anything to say about it.” McCoy snarled, forced to cough right afterwards. He reached the unconscious man first (his life signs were low, and he would likely die if he breathed in any more smoke), and without looking too far into it he picked him up and backtracked, struggling under the weight of unfamiliar armor and a thick shroud of smoke.

“I … I can’t move, sir.” The voice–it had an Australian accent–came hesitantly. “My arm is trapped, an I think Slip broke ‘is leg …”

The third (almost constantly coughing) man had definitely broken more than his leg, but there wasn’t time to say it. He would have to wait.

McCoy spared no breath as he stumbled out of the ship, tearing towards one of the trees at full tilt, taking the time to rest his patient on the other side of it before running back to the other men.

He paused to hold his breath again, entering and immediately going to the man who’d first spoken to him. “What’s your name, son?”

The man was barely discernable through the billowing smoke, and McCoy had to get his face very close to the tricorder to read its output.

“CT-8882, sir, but they call me Triple-Eight.”

McCoy had mainly asked the man the question to keep his mind off of his situation, but had to do a double take at the name. He never got the chance to ask about it, as the terrible cough came from his left again and the man before him added.

“That’s CT-7823, he’s called Slipstream. An’ Laff is the one you took out … the others are dead.”

McCoy gritted his teeth as he realized what he’d have to do to get the man’s arm out from behind the crushed machinery, and pulled out his phaser with a single mind. “Try not to move too much. I’m gonna get you outta there.”

“You really should get goin’, sir. This ship’s not gonna last much longer.”

“I’m not leaving until y’all can leave with me.” McCoy turned his weapon to the right setting, and then quickly began cutting away the offending machinery. Another cough came from the side, and he swore quietly.

“Sir-”

“Not another word outta you!” He poked Triple-Eight in the chest lightly as he spoke, then let his free hand rest on the man’s good shoulder to steady himself as he worked. “I’m a doctor, and ain’t no way in hell I’m leavin’ you two in here to die.”

The man didn’t protest again, though McCoy had no doubt that he wanted to.

By this time, all of them were coughing, though Slipstream seemed unable to stop.

The work of cutting the man free seemed to take hours, when in reality only two minutes had passed. But two minutes was all it took for the fire in the vehicle to begin growing, the smoke becoming a feral creature determined to take all breath from them. “Can you stand?”

“I- I think so.” Triple-Eight said, stumbling to his feet.

“Then get the hell outta here!” McCoy snapped, turning to the other man and kneeling beside him. He picked him up–the same as he had with the first–following Triple-Eight out of the ship and running towards the same tree where he’d hidden the first man.

“Doctor!” The shout came from the armored man limping at his side as the roar of the fire grew almost exponentially, “Sir! It’s gonna blow!”

McCoy wasted no time, increasing his sprint forward just as the explosion ensued.

It knocked him off his feet to fling him down angrily, and he wrapped himself around his patient. He refused to let the man die after just having torn him from the wreckage.

McCoy’s world became a swirl of color and light, the explosion ringing in his ears as he slumped over his precious cargo.

“Doc?!” Triple-Eight’s voice was alarmed, and his query was punctuated by a violent cough.

“I’m all right …” McCoy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to allow his body time to process all that had happened.

“Is Slip … is he-?”

“You’re pal’s alive.” The Starfleet doctor breathed deeply through his nose, and the man in his arms had another coughing fit. The man appeared to be unconscious after the blast, and McCoy muttered another curse.

“Do ya need help liftin’ ‘im up, Doc?” Triple-Eight asked.

“Go around that tree an’ make sure your other buddy is alive, will ya?” McCoy asked, flapping a hand dismissively. “I’ll follow you with this one.”

“Right.” The man immediately obeyed, and Leonard was left blinking the smoke out of his stinging eyes before pulling himself to his feet, arms full of armored soldier and legs made of jelly. He would have liked to just begin treating the men, but knew that being out in the open during a full battle was a terrible idea.

So he stumbled on.

Moments later the four of them were huddled on the other side of the tree, and McCoy got his first real good look at them. They were in white armor with similar colored helmets, though it was dented and scuffed where it had been so recently abused.

He had put Slipstream down in the most comfortable position that he could find with a tri-ox hypo, leaving his helmet on as it filtered the smoky air that they still breathed. The man had broken a few ribs along with his leg, but his condition was fairly stable.

McCoy began to more earnestly scan them, and almost immediately hissed some air out from between his teeth. He had been initially very relieved to discover that the vehicle had organic life inside of it, but he was hard pressed now not to become alarmed once again when his tricorder told him in no uncertain terms that he was dealing with three clones of the same man.

With electronic chips in their heads _and_ arms, like animals (which, why would you need _two_ chips in every clone? What purpose could they serve?)

Had the situation not been so dire, McCoy most certainly would have questioned Triple-Eight on those points. As it was, he removed the first clone’s helmet (and oh, he hated that their numbers made far more sense now), finding a darkly tanned human underneath. He was completely bald, save for a small and neatly trimmed goatee.

“Will Laff be okay?” Triple-Eight was hovering anxiously to the side, and McCoy gave him a hard look.

“He’ll be doing better than you soon if ya don’t sit down and stop worryin’ ta death.”

“Sorry, Doc.” The man sat rather contritely, his left arm hanging loosely at his side. “Is there anything I can do to help? What’s wrong with ‘im?”

“Cracked skull.” McCoy answered, professionally putting the idea of their neural chips aside, then took out his phaser, knowing what he would have to do.

“Isn’t that the thing you cut me out with?” Triple-Eight inquired.

“It is, but I’m gonna modify it to see if I can’t fix the break.” Sometimes, it was best to just be honest with your patients.

The clone never had the chance to reply to that, as a nearby explosion cut him off. His helmet hid his face, but his voice was grim as he stood. “Do what ya gotta do, Doc. I’ll keep a look out.” He pulled a large black gun from his belt one-handed and sneaked away.

McCoy didn’t answer, too busy pulling the phaser apart and thanking God that he’d brought his larger medkit. It only took him a few moments before he was tearing apart the dermal regenerator as well.

Then came the tricky part. McCoy was no engineer, but it wouldn’t have been the first time that he’d been able to modify a dermal regenerator into a bone knitter by fusing it with a phaser.

Hopefully the two would separate again afterwards, but McCoy wasn’t about to let that fear stop him from saving a man’s life.

Slipstream was beside him as he worked, completely unmoving, and the Starfleet doctor did his best to speed up his work. Three lives were depending on him now, and he couldn’t afford to lose a moment.

So it was with complete focus that he brandished his makeshift bone knitter, working quietly on Laff’s head. The man would certainly have a whopping headache when he woke up (along with quite a concussion), but according to the scans would eventually make a full recovery.

The sounds of battle grew continuously closer even as McCoy finished his work, giving the man a tri-ox hypo along with a healthy painkiller. A small wheeze from his other patient had him moving over faster than he had anticipated, stopping the man from sitting up and taking off his helmet. “Hold on there, son, you’ve got three broken ribs! Do ya want a punctured lung to go along with it?”

A weak cough came from the clone, and it managed to sound so indignant that Leonard was abruptly reminded of Jim.

“I’ll help ya take off your helmet, but only if you quit movin’.”

His reply was a small hand signal of what he assumed to be assent, and then he was pulling the man’s helmet off.

Even though he had been expecting it, seeing the same man as the first still came as a shock to him. McCoy silently vowed to have a word with whoever was in charge (he’d hunt them down if he had to) when the battle was over, but for now put his moral indignance aside in favor of studying the man before him.

Slipstream was fairly clean-shaven, with a head full of dark hair and a pair of long sideburns. He had two similarly dark eyes, glittering with pain and intelligence, and it was his slow blink and small cough that had McCoy acting once more.

“All right, kid. I’m gonna put ya back together. You just focus on breathing.” He pulled out his bone knitter, beginning to remove the armor only for a tan hand to grip his wrist and a quiet voice to wheeze.

“Tri-p … wh- where?”

“Now, no talkin’ until I get these ribs taken care of.” McCoy patted his shoulder, glancing at Laff automatically before trying again.

“_Trip_.” The clone insisted, his eyes determined.

Now McCoy was thinking of Jim again, and so it was with a sigh that he deciphered what the man meant. “You’re friend is on lookout. He’s fine.”

“Th- … the cor- … poral?”

“Both of your friends’ll be fine.” McCoy went back to his work when another explosion sounded nearby, lowering his voice. “Now hold _still_.”

The clone finally complied as McCoy carefully removed the armor (the white sections seemed to stick to the black under-suit in an adhesive manner, but it wasn’t something the doctor had time to study. He was sure Spock would have found it fascinating), beginning his work on the ribs underneath.

About 20 minutes later, they were wrapped and the battle continued raging towards them while he began his work on the clone’s leg.

Triple-Eight “Trip” had come back to check on them several times before moving out again to protect their small group. He never left before giving a report, however, always with a serious tone and the utmost concern for his _vode_ (brothers, apparently).

They were behind enemy lines, though Trip had managed to salvage some of the wreckage of the transport ship to set up a small perimeter with a few traps for any unsuspecting “clankers”. Communications seemed to be out (McCoy frankly wasn’t surprised), and as such, the clone was single-handedly leading away any enemies that drew near, waiting for the moment when he could make contact with a friendly.

Slip’s voice had begun returning to him, 3 tri-ox hypos relieving his tortured lungs enough to reveal a fairly talkative man.

McCoy seemed to have stumbled on a small group from the 212th Attack Battalion, under the command of a General Kenobi. They had been ordered to take out a droid factory on the small moon of Riaj, with cover from the 501st Legion from above.

A lot of the terms and words made no sense to McCoy, though he found himself slowly harboring more and more anger for the leaders of this war, wherever it was and whomever they were.

“And this General Kenobi?” McCoy had Slip leaned up against the tree now, keeping him out of sight.

“He’s probably leadin’ the battle, Doc.” Slip gave a very genuine grin. “He is a Jedi, after all.”

“A Jedi?”

“Yeah. Haven’t you ever heard of the Jedi?”

“Can’t say I have.” McCoy gave the kid another scan, reassuring himself that he was stable before looking him in the eye. “Are they the ones who thought makin’ clones was a good alternative to recruiting their own men for a war?” He hadn’t meant to get angry about it so soon, especially at someone who was definitely a victim of the affair, but it was beginning to weigh on his conscience in a way that he didn’t like.

“We were built for the war, sure, Doc.” Slip wiggled himself into a more comfortable position against the tree. “But it’s mainly ‘cause the Republic didn’t have any real defense before us. Only the Jedi. The Jedi are peacekeepers, but they’re the only reason we’re making any-” Here he gave a small cough, “-headway in this war.”

McCoy couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows, recalling the wars in the history of his own universe and the different methods of defense that were invented back then as well. It made his moral sensibilities want to curl up and hide, but he knew that the people in this universe were just doing what they felt was necessary. It didn’t mean he had to like it, though. “So you were created specifically to fight and defend the Republic?”

“Yes, sir. It’s why we’re the best defense.” Slip was earnest as he explained. “Without us the Seppies would have already taken the core planets, and we’d all be under Sith control, since that’s who’s leading the Separatist movements.”

“Sith?”

“They’re like … evil Jedi, as far as I know.” Slip’s eyes looked up as he attempted to describe the word better. “They just want to control the Galaxy, and they’ll kill anyone who gets in their way.”

“But the Jedi don’t do that.” McCoy clarified, frowning when the clone nodded. So the Jedi were above controlling the galaxy, but not above creating a race of slaves to help them defend what they deemed correct.

“That’s why the Jedi are the Generals. They’re more powerful than any clone.” Slip abruptly grinned, completely missing McCoy’s grimace at his self-referral. “And our General’s one of the strongest of the whole lot! General Kenobi always makes sure we’re treated right, and he comes up with brilliant plans!”

“Sounds like a great guy.” McCoy said it to be polite, but his heart wasn’t in it. His whole world had been turned on its head, dumping him in an amoral universe where slavery was widely practiced under a different name, and machines fought on behalf of the enemy.

He hardly heard as the young clone began extolling the many virtues of his commanding officer, instead mechanically scanning the one called Laff to make sure he was still stable while he thought on his predicament.

If he had been paying more attention, McCoy would have perhaps recognized the signs of shock within himself, but as it was he could only think about where his two shipmates had ended up.

He could only pray that he’d find them soon, so that they could get out of this hellish universe as soon as possible.

“-apparently it’s totally normal for the Jedi, since they can feel danger through the Force …”

“The Force?” McCoy turned back to his chatty patient, promising himself that he’d make sure Jim ate his words when he saw him again. It was the least his accident-prone captain could do after everything McCoy was putting up with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Kriff that was so hard to write. I don't think I've ever read more Wookieepedia/Memory Alpha than I did for just this chapter.
> 
> And to think; there's more on the way. -_- I think I might die. It's pretty difficult to mix these two worlds, since for how similar they may look, they are VERY different.
> 
> Well. Please tell me what you think of this first chapter, what you liked, what you hated, what you'd like to see more or less of ... just ... feedback in general would be nice. ;)
> 
> Also, as a note, I absolutely love the Clones, and I very much enjoyed coming up with my own. If you guys hated this, I won't write a ton more, but if you liked it lemme know so I can get bustin' on the next chapter!
> 
> Ta till later!


	2. Of Weequay and Sith

Kirk knew he was in trouble as soon as he could see. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darker atmosphere, but he immediately recognized that he was alone on the bridge of an unfamiliar ship, and that he was surrounded by an alien species that he had never before seen. They had leathery skin with noses that gave the impression of having recently been punched in the face.

They also had weapons (albeit strange ones) aimed at him.

It was natural reaction that had Kirk pulling his phaser from his belt, determined to at least get in a few good shots before he was- what? Killed? Kidnapped? The sweaty palm of his hand was already on his weapon, and his fingers were beginning to close around it when an authoritative voice called out,

“Hey! Hey, there is no need for violence, my friend!” One of the leathery-skinned beings stepped forward, his stride and the deference of the others making it quite clear that he was the leader. “We are all sensible beings here, and you can trust that we will not attack you.”

Kirk was finding it difficult to get a good look at the male’s eyes through the thick goggles covering them, instead allowing his gaze to focus on the turtle-shell looking hat that the leader wore.

“But if we _did_ want to attack you …” leather boots thudded against the metal floor as the alien advanced, a smile on his lips while he voiced what was an unmistakable threat, “it would not be a very fair fight.”

A few chuckles came from around the room at that last part, with murmured promises of pain if Kirk tried anything. He slowly put his hands in the air, shoving his panic down as he answered genially. “Well, gentlemen-” And here everyone laughed much louder before quieting at a hand signal from their leader. “It appears that I am outmatched.”

“I _knew_ you would see it our way!” The leader laughed even louder than the rest, clapping Kirk on the shoulder as soon as he was close enough. His accent rang of the Middle East, and a grinning little red monster leapt from seemingly nowhere onto the turtle-hat. “Now perhaps you can explain to us how you popped out of thin air, eh?”

“Only after you’ve explained who you are, how you intercepted the transporter beam, and where my two companions are.” Kirk didn’t allow himself to be pulled in by the man’s arm around his shoulder, planting his feet apart and looking him in the eye (he hated how tall his kidnapper was).

“Intercepted?” The man gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise through his goggles, frowning as he responded. “_You_ don’t even know how you got here? _You_ came to _my_ ship!”

“I was trying to get to the _Horizon_, and I had two of my men with me-!” Kirk was beginning to get angry with the frustrating individual, his panic rising once again, but was cut off when the man’s leathery hand tightened on his shoulder.

“My friend, I do not know _how_ you teleported onto my ship, but I am Captain Hondo Ohnaka, and I do _not_ appreciate what you are insinuating.” The red monster fell off the alien’s shoulder after cackling madly at the barely veiled threat. “I am a pirate! I do not kidnap people unless they are worth money to someone, and I _certainly_ do not kidnap them by teleportation.”

“That’d make it easier though, Boss.” One of the other men spoke, his accent a thick cockney.

Kirk was very quickly beginning to get a picture of what had happened, and felt as though his stomach had just fallen through the floor. If these men didn’t know what teleportation was, then there was no way the Federation knew about them, or vice versa.

That also meant that the esteemed captain of the _Enterprise_ was in the middle of a first contact. With pirates.

The fact that Spock and McCoy were nowhere to be seen was also worrisome, and so it was with forced bravado that Kirk puffed himself up to respond. “I am James T. Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise, and I am missing two of my friends. I demand to know where I am, and where they are as well.”

“_You_ demand!” Ohnaka’s eyes blew wide once again behind his goggles, and then he was laughing. As soon as he began laughing, his men followed suit. Kirk was privately very glad that his own crew never did anything so ridiculously false. The little red monster was cackling as well as it leapt back onto the pirate’s shoulder, narrowly avoiding the spikes on Ohnaka’s chin. “I _like_ you, Kirk!”

The statement–although seemingly said apropos to nothing–was accompanied by another hearty slap to Kirk’s shoulder.

“I’m still waiting for an answer.” Jim kept his voice hard, and the pirate’s chuckles died quite abruptly.

“You are on my ship, Kirk. Right now you are a guest, though I do not know where your friends are.”

Ohnaka put his palm up to the red monstrosity on his shoulder, and for a moment Kirk was certain that he was about to pet it. Instead, the creature’s tail lifted from where it had been resting on the captain’s back, and Kirk gaped when he saw that his phaser was wrapped in the end of it.

His hand flew to his belt, but it was undeniably empty, even his communicator was gone.

“And when you are a guest on my ship, you play by _my_ rules.” Ohnaka’s tone was still light, but his expression was hard. “I think we’ll have a lot to talk about, too! We are both captains, and you know a lot about these …” He waved his hand as he thought of the word, “transporters that I do not.”

The small red demon cackled again while the pirate took his phaser and began to tuck it away.

All the panic that had been simmering ever since Kirk had arrived abruptly boiled over. It wasn’t a conscious thought that had him lunging forward, a smart right hook taking down the pirate and his horrendous little pet, it was pure panic.

For a few moments, the dark room was filled with shouting as the captain of the _Enterprise_ grappled for his weapon. He needed that weapon, he wasn’t sure if letting them have it would break the Prime Directive (though at this point that wasn’t the priority), and he was definitely certain that if he didn’t get away from these men now he would never find his friends.

His last conscious thought was that McCoy was going to be very angry with him.

* * *

To say that Dooku’s day had been bad would have been the greatest understatement of the Galaxy.

Dooku’s day had been horrendous.

Two of his acolytes had died when one of them attempted to assassinate the other in a coup that failed spectacularly, the Republic was in the process of demolishing the small moon of Riaj to destroy the droid factory thereon, and his Master had called to inform him of the death of Savage Opress.

What had happened to Maul was anybody’s guess, but Dooku wasn’t privy to details like that. Not when he was merely a pawn in his Dark Lord’s wrinkly hands.

So it was with anger blackening his soul that he entered into the large barren room that he used for training. In moments the droids were activated and the Count was destroying them.

He had known when he had become a Sith that his Master was merely using him in a larger game. It was why he had agreed, actually, because of the power that came with the title Darth Tyranus and being the lackey to Darth Sidious.

With a vicious slice, he chopped two training droids in half.

He had used his Master almost as many times as he had been used, he was almost certain. The Dark Side of the Force was powerful, and he knew in his soul that if the Jedi refused to see the black hole that the Republic was falling into than he would expose it himself.

It was why he had killed Syfo-Dyas.

His old friend.*

Without that death, he never could have claimed the power that came with his new title. And without that power, he never could have even begun to make the difference that he was now.

A strong thrust took out another droid.

Qui-Gon’s death had only made it a simpler choice to make, knowing that he could in no way show the Jedi how wrong they were.

Two more droids fell in sparking pieces.

It was ironic that for much of his life Qui-Gon had tried to prove to the Council that the darkness was brewing. That is was growing. That the Galaxy would not remain safe … Only for them to finally believe it after his death.

Dooku shocked the next droid with the Force, taking it down in a crackle of electricity.

Even then the Council hadn’t really acted. It was only when they’d moved against Senetor Amidala that Obi-Wan had discovered the Clones and subsequently the entire war had begun.

He crushed the last three droids with the Force, putting his lightsaber away with a small sigh.

His indignance at the stagnation of his old Master–and by extension, the whole Order–fled just as abruptly as it had flared, and his lip curled in disgust at the plans that he knew his Master had for young Skywalker.

Fools, the lot of them. The corruption was right under their noses, festering and oozing pus, and yet they still could not see it. Even his own Grand-Padawan had been in denial when he’d told him of it.

It was with heavier steps than before that Dooku made for the door, determined to meditate before he retired. By morning, Riaj would be the Republic’s and the droid factory would be nothing but debris.

It was a pity that Grevious was in the middle defending a small planet on the other side of the Galaxy (it had a wealth of minerals that they couldn’t afford to lose). Had the General been on Riaj then perhaps the GAR* wouldn’t be currently swarming it.

The door hissed open as Dooku approached, and he had only just crossed the threshold when a shudder ran violently through the Force. He spun around, uncertain what had happened and yet certain that it was behind him.

To his amazement there was a sparkling light in the center of the training room, and a figure was materializing in the center of it. It was a pale humanoid with a blindingly bright blue tunic on, and conspicuously pointed ears.

The stranger’s eyes widened as they took in their surroundings, and Dooku felt a trickle of alarm in the Force for a moment before the man murmured. “Fascinating.”

Around the man the Force was swirling, making it clear that nothing about the situation was by accident. The Unifying Force was practically shouting in Dooku’s ear that this stranger was immensely important.

“Forgive me for intruding upon your property, but I believe that my mode of transportation has malfunctioned, leaving me apparently stranded.” The man’s cultured voice was monotone (despite the clearly Rim accent), but the whisper of panic in the Force increased just a little. “I am Spock, and if you would permit me I would like to attempt to contact my missing companions.”

It took Dooku a full three seconds to process that he was the one being asked, and so it was with less authority than usual that he responded. “Of course.”

The man nodded succinctly as he removed a small instrument from his belt, opening it before beginning to speak. “Spock to Captain Kirk, come in, Captain Kirk.” Both of them waited in silence, and then the words were repeated. This happened several times, with different names before the unfamiliar device was put away.

“It appears that I have been stranded.”

“It would appear so.” Dooku agreed, still marveling at this phenomenon.

“If it would not be too much to ask, I would require your assistance in ascertaining where I am, and the locations of my crewmembers.”

Dooku merely nodded, “I will help you if I can, and you are on the planet of Serenno.”

“What is your name?”

“I am Count Yan Dooku, but you may refer to me as Dooku.” The Count wasn’t sure why the Force had sent him this stranger, but he knew that the Force did not make mistakes.

He didn’t know how, but it was exceedingly clear to him that this man would change the future. For better or for worse was still to be seen, but Dooku felt a spark of hope.

Something he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

* * *

Kirk awoke on his back to a splitting headache, and it was with a small moan that he remembered where he was. There were murmurs from around him, and he could feel his hand moving, even though he wasn’t moving it himself. There was also a slight weight on his chest, and he had the distinct impression that someone had put something there.

The last thing he could clearly recall was the laughing red monster on Captain Ohnaka’s shoulder, and so it was with reluctance that he opened his eyes.

The ceiling was grey and uninteresting, but he could see that he was surrounded by the leathery aliens from before, all of them talking to each other in murmurs that quieted when the thing on his chest made itself known.

It was the red monster- except it wasn’t. It was yellow. It gave a series of squeaks that had all of the aliens looking his way, and the silence was quickly filled with a long tsking sound.

“Oh my, Kirk.” Hondo said after clucking his tongue for nearly 10 seconds straight. “You look terrible.”

Jim gave him a weak glare, happy to see that the goggles were a different pair (he could vaguely remember breaking the first pair with a satisfying crunch), and the pirate shook his head.

“Didn’t I _tell_ you that there was no need for violence?”

“What do you want, Ohnaka?” He had meant for his voice to be more authoritative, but it came out much too feebly in comparison. The yellow monster jumped off of him onto the pirate’s shoulder with a squeak.

“Oh, my friend you _wound_ me!” Hondo grasped his chest in mock pain. “It is as I told you! You are a guest here on my ship! You will stay with us and help us to build this transporter that you speak of, and in return we will help you find your lost ship!”

Kirk narrowed his eyes. “I’m a captain, Ohnaka, not an engineer. I couldn’t tell you how to build one. I only lost two friends, too. Not my whole ship.” It was mostly the truth.

“Then where is your ship?”

“It’s right where I left it. My men and I were transporting onto another ship and ended up somewhere else instead. I’m with you, but I don’t know where my friends are.”

“Then it is your ship that lost _you_?”

Kirk avoided nodding, instead answering with a terse, “Yes.” He looked to where his hand was still moving, and but couldn’t really see past the amount of pirates crowded around his bed.

“This is _terrible_!” Ohnaka didn’t notice when Kirk tried to pull his hand back, only for a good grip to keep him from moving it. “We will have to help you find your friends so that we can build a transporter and send you back!”

“They’re not engineers either-”

“Now everybody get out! Captain Kirk and I have plans to make!” Hondo made a shooing noise, forcing the clump of pirates around him to thin with small grumbles. The only words Kirk caught were transporter and credits.

Hondo sat on the edge of his bed, finally allowing Kirk a good look at his hand; which was a bloody mess. The resident leathery doctor was sewing it together carefully, grumbling as he worked. Jim felt a sudden pang of worry for Bones, and hoped that his friend was better off than he was.

_At least let Spock and Bones not be floating out in space somewhere_, he prayed.

His surprise at his injury must have shown in his eyes, because Ohnaka laughed heartily, his yellow shoulder-monster joining in with its small cackle. “I am a Weequay, Kirk. You punched me in the face.” Kirk watched as the confident captain carefully tapped the spikes growing out of his chin. “It was a simple thing for me to turn my head and let you damage yourself. Don’t worry, the stitches are only a formality. They are there to make sure that it heals correctly in the bacta, and there they will dissolve.”

Jim quickly made the executive decision to just grab for his phaser next time, and forgo the punching.

“But now that we understand each other, we can talk a little bit more about these transporters. I have many questions.”

Oh yeah, Kirk was in trouble.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Syfo-Dyas grew up with Dooku, and was the friend that he manipulated into sanctioning the creation of the clones. It was also this friend that he killed to become an official apprentice/Sith to Sidious. (Correct me if I'm wrong on any of this)
> 
> *The GAR is the Grand Army of the Republic (so basically the Clone Army, for those of you who don't recognize the term)
> 
> So if you guys haven't figured it out by now, the POVs in this fic are going to change at my whim. It will definitely be centered around Kirk, Spock and McCoy though.
> 
> If I got any of my Dooku facts wrong, please lemme know. His Wookiepedia page is super long, and yet I feel like we know so little about him. I think he's a fascinating character, and I'm going to do my best to bring that out.
> 
> As for my interpretation overall of these two fandoms, I'm obviously going to take some liberties, but feel free to correct me as you see fit. ;)
> 
> As a side note, on my ff.net page I've put up a poll (cuz that seems fun) that will allow you to share your opinon on whether or not our Trekkers should have the Force. I would love it if you went and marked your preference for me, and even leave comments on your thoughts there.
> 
> https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5185270/Alverrann
> 
> Until next time, guys. :)


	3. Blue Eyes and Grey Skies

Commander Cody understood war. He understood that it was necessary, that for the right virtues and values to triumph over evil ones, defending them was sometimes the only course of action. Cody understood because he was bred for it, he and his _vode_. He knew the chaos that the Galaxy would descend into if they didn’t win.

Cody understood that he and his fellow clones were necessary for the Republic’s victories, and he knew that if it weren’t so then the Jedi would never have agreed to fight alongside them. His General had gone to great lengths to remind him that he was human; that he was unique despite his origins, and he appreciated it. He also understood why not many thought that way.

He understood, yes.

But Cody didn’t like it.

It was with a growl that he threw a grenade into the enemy forces, scattering and knocking them down while he and his troopers advanced. The forest was thick, and many trees had already suffered and fallen, caught between the warring factions.

Ships whizzed and screamed over their heads, with the 501st laying down a healthy covering fire that kept the droids from really coming out en masse. They hadn’t been expecting this attack at all.

Riaj would soon be under Republic control, mainly due to the fact that the Separatists had no real leaders here to defend it from the GAR as they advanced. Cody thanked the stars that it was so; it made their victory inevitable and dropped the death-rate significantly though that unfortunately didn’t exempt everyone from death.

It was with ferocity that he led his men, downing every droid and transport that they came across. There were explosions and shrapnel on all sides, with a snapping tree every now and then.

The battle had started badly, with two of their transports being shot down almost immediately. That was two squads down—potentially 18 dead men—and the remains of the transports had yet to be found.

Cody knew that there was a chance that the men from the transports survived, but he always prepared for the worst. It made it easier to accept it when it came. The Shadow Squadron had already called in from above to inform him that one of the transports had exploded on impact, and the other had followed shortly after.

The droids were falling before his men as he led the way through the forest, knowing that his general was flanking them with the other two platoons in the north.

His General.

Kenobi had been out of sorts for almost two weeks now, and Cody still hadn’t been able to discover why. Unfortunately, General Skywalker was still holding a grudge from some falling out that had happened almost a whole month earlier between the two Jedi.

According to Rex it was a big deal, though the captain couldn’t really give Cody the details. It worried the commander, especially since his superior tended to fight more recklessly when he was distracted. The last thing Cody needed was for Kenobi to lose his lightsaber, or get hit by a stray shot.

As a simple clone, he wasn’t really up to the task of fixing the ever-growing rift between Skywalker and Kenobi.

The Team.

The Negotiator and the Hero with no Fear. Together they were unbeatable, and yet for a month they had seemed awfully tense with one another.

Even more so than usual.

Cody grimaced as he lobbed another grenade, leading his men farther into the forest as the droids continued their futile advance. He’d rather take on an army of clankers any day than attempt to breach the great wall of emotionless serenity that supposedly made up the Jedi Order.

More like the wall of suppressed trauma and mental health issues.

He respected the Jedi, certainly, but he couldn’t understand that attachment rule. His _vode_ were his backbone, keeping him sane through the never-ending blaze of death and war. Without them, he would have stopped fighting for the Republic long ago. His love for his brothers drove him and inspired him in ways that couldn’t be replicated if he were on his own.

Yet for some reason the Jedi couldn’t have that. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Generals Kenobi and Skywalker were brothers in all but blood, and yet they could never tell each other. Expressing it was forbidden (not that they didn’t do it anyway, depending on the situation).

But wasn’t that where the whole problem came from? It was an impossible rule for anyone with feelings to keep, and so when the Jedi would have liked to express themselves to one another, they often … didn’t. It tended to give the impression that they didn’t care, or just disregarded emotions in general.

And that’s where the misunderstandings happened. Right on that fine line between emotions and attachment, which were blending together more and more every day.

At this point, Cody could only hope that General Skywalker was willing to overlook whatever Kenobi had done to him, because Kenobi needed his brother just as much as Cody needed his own family.

The droids were going down in waves before his platoons, and he was relieved when he saw the advancement of the rest of their battalion.

Cody could see the panic amongst the droids as they were properly flanked by the rest of the 212th, and gave his men the signal to really run the clankers down. It was with grim satisfaction that he observed the beginning of the enemy’s retreat.

He would take his _vode_ over the Force in every circumstance, but he couldn’t help but admire the grace with which his general led their advancement. The blue lightsaber was a beacon that drew all attention, and yet simultaneously protected against every shot that the Seppies fired.

From this distance all Cody could see of his general was an impenetrable force of power, solid and unyielding (no cloak, though. He’d probably lost it again). Yet as the four platoons came together to take out the fleeing enemy, bringing him closer to Kenobi, Cody could see the exhaustion that had recently defined his superior officer.

It was there in the slight slump of his shoulders, along with the tense lines of his face. Cody would have to talk to Rex; see if they could get their Jedi to communicate with one another.

“Cody!” Kenobi called for him as soon as they were within 100 meters of each other, “I need you to drive them back towards their base!”

“And you, sir?” Cody asked it as soon as he was close enough, becoming steadily more worried for his general as he neared.

“I sensed-” The Jedi paused, even as many troopers passed them to continue on toward the enemy. “There is something I must see to. I trust you won’t have too much trouble taking care of the factory?”

“No problem, sir.” Cody responded immediately, not questioning his leader’s change of terms. “The Shadow Squadron called in to report that they might have found where the factory is hidden.”

“Anakin told me.” Kenobi sounded vaguely amused. “Says it’s underground.”

“Right, sir. We’ll give ‘em a proper burial.”

“Thank you, Cody.”

The Jedi was gone as soon as he’d appeared, his lightsaber disappearing and allowing him to blend into the ranks of clone troopers, effectively barring him from sight. Cody shook his head before jogging forward to advance with his men.

There was work to be done yet.

* * *

Anakin was frustrated.

There had been that argument with Obi-Wan this morning—the one where he had demanded to know the details of his old master’s mission to Mandalore—which had quickly turned horrendous. Obi-Wan really wasn’t acting normally, and it was starting to worry Anakin, not that he was especially surprised at the lack of answers from Obi-Wan. After that whole incident with Rako Hardeen, he doubted he’d ever be surprised again.

He had been forced to ground Ahsoka due to the injuries she’d sustained in their last mission (and he still wasn’t convinced that Riaj wasn’t just a trap). She had been furious with him for leaving her onboard the _Endurance_, and he had quickly promised her constant updates on their battle.

So here he was—General Anakin Skywalker—leading the Shadow Squadron as they provided cover fire for Obi-Wan’s battalion below. It hadn’t taken long for him to discover where the Seperatist Factory had to be located, and it was (annoyingly enough) underground.

So bombing it wasn’t really the best option that they had.

Oh, and there was also that mysterious wave in the Force that had almost made him crash his fighter.

“Master! Master, what was- are you okay?!” Ahsoka’s voice had fretfully dominated his cockpit, and Artoo had given an indignant whistle at their sudden drop in altitude.

“I’m all right, Snips.” He remembered responding shortly as he had reached out his senses, trying to pinpoint exactly what had just happened. “Did you feel that?”

“I- ... I thought maybe I was just imagining it …” His Padawan’s voice had been uncertain, “It was like a nudge in the Force.”

“Not for me, it wasn’t.” Anakin had muttered, having felt a Force resonance that resembled the wave from earlier and he flew lower to pinpoint it, getting on his comm. link to the rest of his squadron as he did so. “Keep in formation, boys. I’m going to check something out. Don’t let up on them.”

“Right, sir.” Had been his only response.

“Was it a lot stronger for you?” Ahsoka hadn’t sopped talking, her voice rising as she speculated. “Did it come from the moon’s surface? Are you going to look for it? Should I come down?”

“_Snips_.”

“Sorry, Master.” She’d sounded contrite. “It just … it had to have been huge to reach me all the way out here.”

“Or you’re just more in tune.” Anakin had grinned, then. “Does this mean you’re paying more attention to your meditation?”

Artoo had chosen that moment to make a very derogatory comment about the Force, and Anakin had laughed so hard that he nearly took the top off of a particularly tall tree. None of his men had commented on it, and he had to wonder if they would only start worrying about his flying when his ship started on fire.

“I pay attention!” Ahsoka’s voice had been huffy over the comm. unit, and Artoo gave the whistling equivalent of rolling his eyes. “I just- … It could be dangerous, Master.”

“Ahsoka. I’ll be fine.” He had spoken firmly, trying to calm his Padawan even as he sent a wave of confidence and comfort through their bond. “I’ll tell you what I find.”

He had wondered if he ought to comm. Obi-Wan, but his master’s side of their bond was as silent and closed off as usual, and after that morning, Anakin had decided to just leave it.

That had been a little over 2 hours earlier, and now he was getting ready to land his fighter, tired of attempting to pinpoint the Force fluctuations from the air. And if Anakin was frustrated, Artoo was twice as bothered, constantly asking him why he didn’t just finish off the droid army before going on his small scavenger hunt.

“I’m surprised you aren’t excited, Artoo.” His smile didn’t quite make it to his eyes as he landed his fighter behind their own lines, hopping out to look at the small Astromech. “Normally you like adventures.”

Artoo then made it perfectly clear through short bleeps and annoyed blarps that he liked adventures that weren’t wild bantha chases, but that was no reason to compare him with Threepio.

Anakin took this to mean that the droid missed his friend, and he sighed. “Watch the ship, Artoo. With any luck, this will be our last mission before they let us go back to Coruscant for a while.”

The last thing Anakin heard as he walked away was a sarcastic whistle, and then he was running. The trees were a lot bigger from the ground, which was a dumb thought, but it was all Anakin could really think about as the forest engulfed him.

The Force was swirling between the thick blue tree trunks as he ran towards the battle once again, allowing himself to be led towards whatever had so affected him before. Ahsoka was worried that it could be dangerous, but he hadn’t felt that in the Force when it had happened.

The only impressions he’d gotten from it were of power and … importance, strangely enough.

The presence was growing before him, and it was with ease that Anakin turned himself over to the Living Force, letting it flow through him as it led him to exactly where he needed to go. He’d never have imagined as a young Padawan just how powerful meditation could be, but now he did it without even thinking.

He loved the Living Force. It reminded him of Qui-Gon, and it made everything more vibrant. It made him feel free, and he pushed himself faster as he melded with it, leaping and running gracefully toward his goal.

So immersed was he, that he barely had time to skid to a stop when someone stepped in front of him. Their purposefully obscured Force signature left a small black hole in his vision, and had him drawing his weapon immediately, thinking of Ventress.

The sound of lightsabers clashing together brought him out of his meditation, and he was met with the face of his old master, whose mustache twitched with amusement. “Anakin, how many times have I told you to think before striking?”

“Obi-Wan.” Anakin sheathed his weapon, tucking it onto his belt again as he regarded the older man. “It would be a lot easier to tell who you were if you didn’t hide your Force Signature from me. For all I knew, you could have been Dooku.”

“I certainly can’t have grown so old.” Obi-Wan smiled wryly but didn’t address the mild accusation in Anakin’s tone, a sure sign that he was tired.

“Master, are you here because-”

“I felt it as well.” Obi-Wan cut him off, and Anakin tried to ignore the surge of irritation that immediately followed. “It was rather powerful, after all.”

“Even Ahsoka felt it.” Anakin followed his old master as they began to pick their way towards the epicenter of the wave. Obi-Wan’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“From the _Endurance_? I knew you had felt it as well when your fighter disappeared from the sky and you began barreling towards it.”

“Because I didn’t close off my side of the bond?” Anakin couldn’t help the bitter tone that his voice took, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Anakin, now’s not the time. It could be dangerous, after all. I thought it best to attempt stealth before anything else.”

Anakin let it drop, but only because they were very near to whatever it was that had affected them before. They both froze when there came a shuffling sound from before them, and Obi-Wan reacted first, posture loosening just as Anakin recognized it for what it was.

“Sirs!” A clone trooper stumbled out of the underbrush; his white armor smudged with dirt and grime, and his left arm in a sling- … a _blue_ sling. His helmet was on, obscuring his expression, but his voice was earnest. “CT-8882, sir-” The man’s head went from Kenobi to Skywalker and back. “Reporting, sir.”

“What do you call yourself?” Anakin asked, noting in the Force around the man just how exhausted he had to be.

“Triple-Eight, General Skywalker, sir.” A salute was quick to follow. “I was in one of the transports that got hit. Only three of us survived, and the other two are in a bad way.”

“Take us to them.” Obi-Wan lost no time at all, and moved forward swiftly, spurring the trooper to jump ahead of him, mouth still running.

“They’re stabilized for now, General, there was a man; came out of nowhere, he’s been helpin’ us since the crash.”

That caught Anakin’s attention just as much as Obi-Wan’s, prompting the latter to ask. “Who is he?”

“Says ‘e’s Lt. Commander Leonard H. McCoy, but he’s a doctor too.”

“And you said he came out of nowhere?” Anakin was trying his hardest not to sound skeptical, but Triple-Eight shrugged.

“He’s not a Seppie, that’s for sure.”

Anakin glanced towards his old mentor, and found that Obi-Wan was looking right back at him. They shared a look that both of them knew perfectly; a look that meant ‘_get ready for anything._’

Then they were turning the corner to enter a small open area, Triple-Eight running forward to call out in a soft shout, “Doc! Slip! The Generals are here!”

“’Bout time, too.” The man who stood was very thin, and about Obi-Wan’s height. His shirt was bright blue, missing one sleeve, and his hair and skin were peppered with ash. His eyes were even bluer than the shirt (if that was even possible), and his smile was strained. “You must be those Jedi I’ve been hearin’ all about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. What did you think of this chapter? Honest opinions only. 
> 
> The only reason I got this up is because of the feedback I've gotten for this fic. I honestly wasn't expecting it to be quite so well received, but I'm glad that some of y'all like it enough to comment. Makes my day every time, seriously. 
> 
> I'll start up on the next chapter, and maybe we'll get to see just what Kirk and Spock are up to, so I can leave you dangling where McCoy is concerned. 
> 
> Will he get along with them? Won't he? Guess you'll just have to wait an' find out! ;)


	4. An Unwelcome Ultimatum

Kirk fidgeted a lot.

Hondo took great pleasure in noticing that about the human, since the man had been closed-lipped about practically everything else. Transporters sounded like some kind of miracle to the pirate, and he had every intention of finding out how they worked. Kirk was not being very helpful in that regard, however, having answered all of his questions either tersely, or with queries of his own.

Hondo had the distinct impression that the human was still in shock from his strange arrival, and that once the shock wore off, his panic would as well. It was why the pirate captain was still there despite Kirk's obvious annoyance. To capitalize on that panic. The human's eyes appeared darker than they probably were in the harsh light of Hondo's medical-bay, and his golden shirt was practically glowing. Kirk seemed to be holding himself carefully, almost as though any other position would cause him to spring into action whether or not he wanted to. Yet his toe wiggled, and the hand that Heek was stitching up kept twitching almost involuntarily.

The foreign captain - for all of his bravado - couldn't seem to sit still while the Weequay stitched his hand, and Hondo could tell that the doctor was becoming quite frustrated with his patient. Force only knew Hondo was getting a little frustrated himself, and it didn't help that Pikk kept giggling in his ear. "Captain, I don't think you are understanding what I am offering you here-"

"Captain, I don't think _you're_ understanding that I'm offering _nothing_ here." Kirk snapped, his eyes halting their journey around the room to pin Ohnaka where he sat. "I already told you that rebuilding the transporter technology with nothing but my memory would be impossible. Now I need to find my friends, and you are wasting my time."

Hondo didn't respond immediately, instead observing the way Heek sighed as he pulled Kirk's bloody hand back into position. Kirk seemed slightly apologetic but didn't take his eyes off of Ohnaka's, still waiting for his answer. Pikk's tail swished against Hondo's neck as they met each other's gaze, neither backing down.

"Give me my things, drop me off on the nearest inhabited planet, and I promise you'll never see me again."

"You intrigue me, captain." Hondo admitted. "You do not know where you are, you do not know how our technology works, you do not know what kind of a universe you have transported into, and yet you desire to run from the first help that is offered to you."

"_Ohnaka_-" Kirk's voice was a warning, but Hondo ignored it.

"Where would you go, eh Kirk? Why would I never want to see you again? I thought we were friends!"

"I can't build a transporter-"

"And you cannot even remember on what basic principles a transporter works?" Hondo laughed heartily, Pikk joining in with his ridiculous cackle. "Please, Kirk, I am a pirate - I know - but I will not be taken for a fool. You are lying."

Heek growled when Kirk went to stand, almost pulling his hand from the doctor's grasp. "I'm telling you I don't know-!"

"And I am telling _you_ that you do not have a very good sabacc face, captain." Hondo shook his head as Pikk continued giggling in his ear. "I am a business man before a philanthropist, my friend, and I have already explained to you my terms. Until you begin recalling things about these transporters, I am afraid that I will not be able to help you find your friends."

"You can't keep me here against my will, Ohnaka." Kirk was standing now, his hand stretched back to where the doctor was finishing with the stitches. With his face tilted up, his eyes caught the light, and for a moment they shone gold.

"Against your _will_!" Hondo gasped. "Kirk, you wound me! You are my _guest_!"

"Then I can leave whenever I want?" The human seemed to keep forgetting where his hand was, since he gave a sudden yelp when Heek submerged it into the small bacta-jar. "What in the-?!"

"I must insist that you stay for a while, captain." Hondo grinned as Kirk tore his hand from the jar, only to receive a smart slap from Heek, who grabbed the recently stitched appendage and shoved it back in with a glare that dared the captain to try it again. "I could never send someone as unprepared as you out into the galaxy without at least helping a little."

Pikk was cackling again.

Hondo Ohnaka left the room, certain that his ship's doctor could handle his panicked friend better than he could at the moment. He needed to speak to his crew about their newest member. It was a ... delicate situation, and Hondo didn't need a foolish crew-mate undermining everything he was about to put into motion.

Maybe after laying down some new rules, he'd check the Holo-net, just to see if anything popped up about Kirk's lost friends. Hey, for all Hondo knew, they would have a better memory than their captain.

* * *

Heek understood what angle his captain was going for, and yet as he treated the human before him, he had to wonder if it would work. It was obvious enough that Kirk was furious and in shock, though the man gave few outward signs of it. He stood next to the bed where he'd awoken, petulantly holding his hand in the bacta-jar. His hand had been trembling slightly while Heek had stitched it, but he didn't appear to be trembling at all any more.

Heek was sure that if he put his hand on the man's shoulder, however, he would feel the truth. The human was still clearly attempting to get his bearings.

It took a few moments of silence, with Heek cleaning up the blood from his small worktable, before the human looked at him. The intelligent eyes still held a glint of anger, but his voice was controlled when he asked, "What is this stuff, anyway?"

"Bacta." Heek had never been one for long-winded speeches - that was more his captain's style - but he didn't want to leave the man stewing. The last thing the panicked human needed was more incentive to punch their captain.

Kirk was silent for a long moment, and Heek ended up pointing at the bed. "Sit down, lad. Yew're in shock." The ghost of a smile painted the man's face, but it seemed wistful more than anything else. He sat down heavily, his eyes going back to the closed door as he sighed.

"You're probably right."

"Oi know Oi'm roight."

"Of course. I'm assuming you're the ship's doctor?" Kirk appeared amused, though his shock was becoming more apparent now that he had been given time to think.

"Heek's m'name." Heek stuck out his left hand as cheekily as he could, and Kirk shook it with his own left hand, balancing the bacta-jar on his knees. "An' Oi've been 'ere wiv Capt'n Ohnaka for a long toime, now."

"Jim Kirk." The human replied, his voice distant, as though his mind was far away. In all honesty, his mind probably _was_ far away, and the fact that he'd been knocked out little more than an hour earlier couldn't have been helping. "Is Ohnaka always like this?"

"Yew're gonna have ta be more specific." Heek admitted, even as he prepped a sedative. The human needed it, and Heek needed some quiet time anyway, after the show from earlier. "Ohnaka's got a lot more to 'im than what yew jus' saw, sure, bu' is 'e always loike what?"

There was a long pause as Kirk seemed to think about it, and Heek wondered if he'd forgotten the question. He finished preparing the sedative, knowing that the sooner his newest ward got some rest, the sooner he would as well. Yet just as he was about to administer it the man spoke.

"Ridiculous."

"Eh?" Heek palmed the hypo, making sure the man couldn't see it when he glanced over, finally meeting Heek's eyes. He looked far too calm.

"Your captain is ridiculous."

"Oi'm no' about ta argue wiv yew." Heek bobbed his head, and Kirk suddenly stood, pulling his hand out of the jar and setting it down. He appeared to have made a decision.

"In fact, this whole situation is ridiculous. Your captain can't keep me here. I'm going to find my friends."

"Whoa, oi don' fink yew're in the best condition ta be runnin' around already." Heek started forward, only for the captain to jump away, his hands making fists at his sides before coming up at the ready. His stitched hand shown with bacta and blood, the stitches stretching as he clenched it, allowing more red to leak through.

"You know what they say: there's no time like the present." Kirk grinned, but it was wolfish. "One of my best friends is a doctor, and you'll have to be more subtle than that if you plan on injecting me with something without my noticing."

"Oi'm sorry, bu' oi can' in good conscience jus' le' yew leave when yew're in this state of moind." Heek frowned as he readied himself as well. The half of him that was a doctor was worried for the recently stitched hand that was bobbing up and down before Kirk in a show of defense, but his pirate half was excited to see where the fight would lead. In the end, the pirate half won out, and he took a swing; with any luck, the man would go down easily.

Heek was surprised when the man grabbed his arm and used the momentum to flip him over his shoulder, slamming him to the durasteel floor behind him. Kirk's move had been fairly unexpected, and so Heek decided to use his new position to his advantage, twisting his legs around to sweep the human off of his feet.

The maneuver worked and the man fell, but not before throwing a solid punch at Heek's face, catching him in the nose. When Kirk hit the ground, Heek readied the needle once more, and injected it as quickly as he could into the man's shoulder. He got an elbow in the gut for his troubles, but as Kirk rolled away he knew that it was only a matter of time before he won the fight, now.

"Doctors ..." Kirk gasped as he pulled himself to his feet, Heek doing the same across from him. "You're all the same ..."

"Oi'll take tha' as a compliment." Heek gave a tiny bow, throwing the empty needle cartridge onto his worktable and putting his fists up. "Yew sure yew don' wanna sit down, Jim Kirk? Take a breather?"

Kirk responded by punching him in the face again, kneeing him in the gut and then hitting him in the back to slam him into the ground. Heek grabbed at the man's ankles, jerking them back just as he made for the door. Kirk hit the floor with a grunt of pain, and his boot heel slammed into Heek's poor abused nose. Blood finally gushed out, even his hardened skin unable to take that amount of force twice in a row.

Heek responded by pulling at the foot until the boot came off, Kirk giving a strangled cry as he somehow lurched away and pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the one that was still booted. He knocked Heek's worktable down, and the Weequay was forced to roll to avoid it landing on him. The bacta jar hit the ground, bacta spilling everywhere as they both looked at one another for a moment. Then Kirk was making for the door again, leaving Heek to stop him by launching himself off of the floor into a flying tackle.

He wrapped his arms around the writhing human, and he could feel him getting weaker. This time Heek was expecting it when a pointy elbow got free and turned his head before it reached him, leaving the captain with a torn-up elbow, courtesy of his chin-spines. "'re yew done now?" Heek gasped around his bloody nose, thoroughly sick of the situation.

Kirk mumbled something unintelligible in response, his gasping breaths slowly calming into something less frantic.

"Didn' quite 'ear yew, wot did yew say?" Heek asked it cheekily as he let go, pulling away to roll the human onto his back.

"Sp'k ... cangiffway ... f'dration ..."

Heek shook his head as he easily lifted the smaller human up, carrying him back to the bed.

"B'nes ..."

Heek sat back down at his workbench, looking at the disaster that was now his med-bay, then back at his newest charge. The man's elbow was bleeding and he'd managed to split his hand open again. Heek was fairly certain that he'd twisted the human's ankle when he'd pulled it as well.

Why did Hondo always do this to him?

"Wonderful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait I forced you all to suffer through. I've loved each and every response to my fic! It's a huge part of the reason that I'm even back here writing this one first ... Actually, I'm pretty surprised with how well received it's been, and I hope I can keep writing content you'll all enjoy!
> 
> My finals are over, and I'm sure that Christmas break will offer me the opportunity I need to get this going again. I know that there are people reading it, so I should probably write more often, and I will. I'll try not to get distracted by any other new fandoms, cross my heart and hope to die!
> 
> Thanks for waiting!


	5. Of Vulcans and Feelings

Spock, despite the situation, was intrigued by this new universe - for it was indeed clear to him that he was no longer in the galaxy that he had been born into. Several things had made it quite obvious from the off-set, but there was - for lack of a better word - an underlying _feeling_ that permeated this new space, and left him certain with almost every fiber of his being (as illogical as that was) that he was in a completely new place.

Many of the differences were small, and hardly noticeable, but these were the things that caught his eye and hadn't ceased to pique his curiosity. Count Dooku was one of them, and he certainly demanded more attention than the other strange things that now surrounded the Vulcan, including the odd technology and strange otherness that seemed to permeate his senses. 

There was something different about his senses and abilities as well - a difference that made him uncomfortable - but he did not have time to truly think on it as he continued his outward observations. When he had the time, Spock would meditate on the changes that he felt within himself, and come to a conclusion. In the meantime, he had questions.

Decimated machinery was lying scattered about them, clearly having been cut by some sort of powerful laser. The sweat that was beaded on the forehead of the elderly human before him made it impossible to discount the idea that Dooku had destroyed the machines himself, and since there didn't seem to be any sort of alarm in the count's demeanor, Spock surmised that it had been done as some sort of exercise. 

He had listened carefully when the count named the planet that they were on - Serenno - and now responded as well as he could to the man's queries concerning his appearance. Spock was not entirely certain how the Prime Directive applied when one was no longer in their galaxy of origin, but he decided that it was probably best to "play it safe," as Jim would say. 

"Then you do not know exactly how you came to be here?" Dooku was looking at him with dark brows furrowed, and Spock felt that strange feeling from before surrounding him - almost as though he were in telepathic contact with the Count (despite not currently being in physical contact with the man) - and got the distinct impression that the human didn't believe him.

"Vulcans cannot lie." Spock replied, still uneasy with what seemed to be the sudden growth of his abilities and senses. As a touch-telepath, he would normally have to be in direct contact to even glean the barest hint of what anyone was thinking, and only through a mind-meld would he be able to understand anything more. It was clear to him that one of the differences in his abilities from before was that they seemed to be amplified. Spock catalogued the information for later, knowing that his next meditation would be an important one.

"I see." Dooku's voice was flat, very similar to that of McCoy's when he was no longer paying attention to Spock. 

"I know that we do not know one another, Count Dooku," Spock nodded towards the man, deciding to bring the conversation away from how he had appeared here to something more productive, "But I ask that you grant me leave to stay with you as I search for a way to return home and find my associates." 

"I would be honored to have you, Spock." Dooku gave a half-bow in his direction, and Spock caught a glimpse of a strange curved cylinder hanging at his waist - possibly the weapon that had been used on the machinery from earlier. "I will do all I can to aid you in your search for a way home, and for your captain and doctor." Dooku looked up from his bow, then, his eyebrows quirking into an expression that Spock could not place, "You only lost two friends, did you not?"

"Indeed." Spock then noted that the count was a highly intelligent individual, observant enough to note _whom_ he had called on his communicator earlier and _remember_ it. "It is highly probable that both Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy are somewhere near here; your help in searching would be greatly appreciated." Because he felt it appropriate, he returned the half bow that the count had given him, and Dooku smiled. 

"Then I suggest we start now, after getting you situated." The count began walking, his dark cloak sweeping out behind him, leaving Spock to trail behind. "Now, I must admit to some curiosity in regards to your different galaxy, Spock. Have you ever heard of anything called the Force?" 

"Force is an English word that can be utilized as either a noun or a verb, though your addition of the determiner 'the' before the word itself suggests that you do not refer to any of its standard usages."

Count Dooku stopped partway through Spock's response, and stared at him for a long moment. Spock - despite not attempting to - could feel a small amount of shock from the man through the air, and solidified his plan to meditate at his earliest convenience. 

"I do not know what you mean by English, unless this is your term for Basic." Dooku spoke at length, and continued before Spock could do more than lift a brow. "But it sounds as though you haven't heard of the Force; perhaps it does not exist where you are from." The count began to walk again, but this time it was more slowly, allowing room for Spock to walk at his shoulder. "The Force is the core of our galaxy - an energy field that runs through every living or once-living thing. There are those that are sensitive to it and can connect with it, aptly called Force-sensitives. These individuals, through training, can learn to harness its power to accomplish feats that no ordinary man could ever hope to achieve."

Here the count extended a hand, and the cylinder on his waist snapped into his palm in a moment. Spock merely watched, reminded of the Enterprise's encounter with Trelane and his showcase of inexplicable abilities. Even as Dooku caused the cylinder to float upwards above his fingers, Spock speculated that - despite appearances - the count was perhaps not quite human, much like Trelane. 

"What other abilities can this Force grant those who wield it?" 

Again, there was an impression of shock from the count, and the cylinder floated back into the man's hand as he studied the Vulcan again. 

"Forgive me for my curiosity, but what is your species?" 

"Your curiosity is only natural." So. Vulcans didn't exist in this galaxy - or if they did, this man did not know of them. Clearly the man was surprised by Spock's actions and questions, though hopefully by answering a few questions from the count, Spock could more easily ask more of his own. "I am a Vulcan, and my people come from the similarly named planet of Vulcan."

"I see." The count's tone was anything but bored this time, and his dark eyes never left Spock's face. Spock took that moment to test and discover if his prediction - that the count only appeared human - was correct, asking,

"And you? What is your species?" 

"I am a human." Dooku appeared (and Spock felt that he _was_) mildly offended by the question, but also extremely proud of his answer. 

"Are humans the only species that can harness the 'Force?'"

"No, they are not." For a moment, it seemed as thought the count was going to continue on the subject, but instead he merely nodded, continuing their walk. "And to answer your earlier question, the Force can grant more than just the manipulation of objects. As it is the connecting force between all living things, it can help with communication and understanding, and there are also those that can manipulate the mind. The feelings and - in some cases - thoughts of others can be made known to one through the use of the Force, and there are even those who are granted visions of things to come, or events that have already passed." 

Spock took all of the information in quietly, but as soon as Dooku mentioned the ability to sense the feelings of others, he began to wonder if it wasn't the Force that had amplified his abilities. "Fascinating." 

"Indeed it is, though I find it even more fascinating to know that you have never heard of it before." 

"As far as I am aware, it does not exist where I am from." Spock tilted his head in agreement, even as Dooku stopped walking again, spinning to look at him. 

"Then how are you so proficient in using it?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned.
> 
> I'm so sorry that y'all have hadda wait so long for this dang chapter, but WOW did this one kick my butt! Spock's voice is so hard to get, and Dooku is just behind him! I hope I didn't bore you out with all of that Vulcan-talk, and I'm sorry that I couldn't just go straight to Bones. ;) I know lots of you are excited to see what he's gonna say to Kenobi and Skywalker.
> 
> Anyway. Here this chapter is, and I feel like it'll probably be the hardest one in the whole fic (knock on wood).
> 
> In other news, I'm reading "I am Spock" by Leonard Nimoy, and it's amazing. 10/10 I do recommend.
> 
> Catch ya'll later.


End file.
